


Archie's Weird Mysteries: She-Wolf

by OriginalCeenote



Category: Archie Comics & Related Fandoms
Genre: Archie's Weird Mysteries - AU, Beggie, Betty is a Werewolf, Dilton is a Mad Genius, F/M, Music Soothes the Savage Beast, Werewolves, as long as it isn't Justin Bieber's, reposted from deviantART
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-07-26 05:11:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7561714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The citizens of Riverdale have never believed in werewolves... until now. Reggie finds himself nose-to-snout with one now, thanks to one of Dilton's bizarre potions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out for a Walk

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, MJ Riddle on DeviantArt, for coming up with the idea for this story, and for creating the wonderful artwork that inspired it, in black and white as well as color.

"Dang, frizzle-frazzle to the nth degree!" Dilton muttered. He struggled with his large wolfhound, Pythagoras, as he tried to feed him the anti-flea tablet. Pythagoras wasn't cooperating, snuffling and whining in his throat. Dilton regretted yet again his decision to go with a large-breed canine instead of the small Yorkie his mother tried to talk him into when they rescued him from the pound. "C'mon, boy, eat up the num-nums!" Pythagoras worried his head back and forth, growling at him noncommittally. At a height of five-foot-five, Dilton wasn't much larger than his dog, who could plant his front paws on his shoulder when he stood on his hindlegs.

The dog spit out the tablet three times before Dilton managed to massage it down his throat. He'd tried to give it to the dog with food, to no avail. Bribery hadn't worked either; Pythagoras ignored his offer to let him sleep up on Dilton's bed if he took the medicine.

"There has to be an easier way," he grumbled as his hound trotted out into the backyard, glad to be free. He was at his wit's end.

Shampoos. Flea powders. Tablets. Spray. Collars. None of it seemed to help, and Dilton's mother complained frequently about the fleas that invaded the carpeting and furniture every summer, making a meal out of their ankles whenever they walked across the living room barefoot. Dilton fumed as he headed out to his lab in the garage, puzzling over a solution. Pythagoras, for the most part, was an affectionate and loyal dog, keeping the number of times that he terrorized the mailman each week to a bare minimum.

He flicked on the lamp over his work table and noticed a few dirty beakers. He loaded them into a small plastic tub and carried them over to the sink. Dilton attacked them with some car wash soap and a small brush, careful not to drop any. He wished washing a hundred-twenty pound dog was as easy as scrubbing a few test tubes

He stopped mid-scrub as a brainstorm hit him.

"That's it," he murmured. "That's IT!" he repeated as he dropped his beakers back into the tub of water, heedless of breaking them. Dilton consulted his shelf of reference books and leafed through one on animal anatomy and veterinary medicine. An idea began to take form in his head, all one hundred and fifty IQ points hard at work.


	2. CHOMP!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty stops by Dilton’s lab to drop something off. She picks something up in exchange, unbeknownst to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Weird Mysteries really was this ridiculous...

“Dilton?” Betty called out as she wandered into Dilton's laboratory, noticing that the door was ajar. “Dilly? Where are you?” Her greeting was met with the sound of claws scraping the floor and eager panting.

"WURF!" Pythagoras galloped into the main suite of the lab, tearing around the corner, and he leapt up, planting his large paws on her shoulders. The wolfhound gave her sloppy doggy kisses, leaving her both amused and repulsed.

“Down, boy! Come on, now! Down,” she beckoned. His tail thumped against her as she tried to settle him down. His slavering maw was wide open in the canine equivalent of a smile. She finally knelt down and scratched him behind the ears, and he heeled dutifully, content to get some affection from the friendly blonde. “Where’s your daddy?” she asked him.

“Pythagoras! C’mere, boy!” Dilton called out. Betty turned at the sound of his voice and ceased her administrations when she saw him staggering around the corner of the hall, his vision obscured by the tall stack of books he carried.

“Let me help you with that before you hurt yourself,” she suggested.

“I wondered why he was so excited,” Dilton murmured. “What brings you here, Bets?”

“I wanted to bring back that CD you lent me,” she reminded him. “I set it on that counter.” She reached for his stack and relieved him of half of it. “Where do you want these?”

“Right over there. My hero,” Dilton teased as he adjusted his glasses.

“Any time, Dilly.” She eyed his books. “What are you working on? What are these books on?”

“Botany and animal science. And canine genetics,” Dilton explained. “I’ve been working on a repellent to use on my dog’s fleas.” Betty raised her brows.

“Really? That sounds great! Caramel needs a better flea bath, too. The stuff that I got at the pet store doesn’t get rid of all of them, and she hates it.”

“This is going to be a topical serum. You just massage a drop into the dog’s scalp,” Dilton told her. “It enters the blood stream almost instantly. No yucky pills. No chasing your pet down to give them a bath in the tub.”

“No having to clip down their nails so they won’t scratch you to shreds.” Betty warmed to the idea, grinning. “Good thinking, Dilly.”

“When I bathe Pythagoras, he bathes me,” Dilton admitted. Betty turned toward the sound of claws scrabbling over the floor and distinctive panting. One moment, she was greeting the wolfhound, and the next, he was washing her face with his warm, slavering tongue.

“Yeeeek...! Down, boy!” Her voice was a dismayed sputter. “Ew! Doggie breath! Dilton, how about cooking up some deodorizing dog biscuits next?”

“That’s the next thing on my to-do list.” Dilton smiled sheepishly and reached up for his dog’s collar, tugging him out of Betty’s face. Pythagoras whined, deprived of his favorite female’s affections. “So far the serum seems to be working. He hasn’t been scratching since I applied it.”

“Really? Wow.”

“But I literally still have to work the bugs out of it. I’m worried it might have side effects, like a rash or a change in appetite.” As if on cue, Pythagoras wagged his tail and woofed, then padded off toward the back of the lab. He fetched his food dish, scooping it up into his large maw. Dilton sighed as the hound trotted up to him, whining expectantly.

“You can’t be hungry again!” he accused.

“Maybe he’s growing,” Betty wondered.

“He’s two years old. He shouldn’t be having a growth spurt this late.”

“Then maybe he’s just hungry,” she shrugged. Dilton shook a generous amount of kibble into the dish, adding a half a can of moist dog chow. He tsked in disgust as his wolfhound attacked it greedily, nosing the dish along the floor as he did.

“Have you taken him for a walk yet?”

“I took him out this morning. He keeps getting underfoot, though; I might take him again.”

“Why don’t I take him to the park?” she suggested helpfully. “We can throw a Frisbee around for a while. He might just be bored.”

“Are you sure you want to chance letting him off leash to chase a Frisbee?”

“He’s a sweetheart. I trust him,” Betty reassured him. As if on cue, the wolfhound looked up from his dish and wagged his tail, panting with enthusiasm. “I know he’ll be on his best behavior.”

“Pythagoras, did you hear that? Understand, boy? Are you going to be good for Betty? Listen to everything the nice lady says, or no dog biscuits.” Pythagoras sat and whined, letting his tail thump the floor.

“Look at that face. Pitiful. He thinks you mean it, Dilly. Poor guy,” she crooned as she scratched his ears. Pythagoras was glad to be back in her good graces, and Dilton sighed as he handed her the leash.

“Call me if he gets out of hand. You have the number to my lab.”

“I do.”

“I’ll come meet you if you want,” Dilton offered.

“Don’t worry about it,” she told him again. “Go ahead and finish up here. Don’t cut your research short on my account.”

“Which CD was it that I lent you?” Dilton asked before she hooked the leash onto the hound’s collar.

“Blink-182. I hope you don’t mind that I burned a copy.”

“I would have done that for you if you’d asked me to,” Dilton offered.

“That’s sweet. We’ll be back in a while, Dilton.” She waved and Dilton listened to the scratch of his dog’s nails as he padded down the driveway and out into the street. He watched them depart until Betty’s blonde ponytail disappeared from view.

*

Betty made it to the park with no incident, enjoying the balmy day and light breeze. Pythagoras was a gentleman, never once dragging her or wrapping his leash- and her – around telephone poles or mailboxes. She could feel the hound’s playfulness and pent-up energy; he was straining to take a run. Betty knelt down and unhooked his leash, and Pythagoras promptly rolled around in the slightly damp grass.

“C’mon, boy! You want this? Want a catch? C’mon, Pythagoras, you know you want this!” She whistled to him and shook the Frisbee, beckoning to him. The wolfhound panted and jumped for it, but Betty reminded him to behave. “Heel! Okay, get it!” She flicked it deftly, sending the red disc spinning across the field. Pythagoras took off like a shot, and he came back with the Frisbee clamped between his jaws, looking very proud of himself. Betty reached for it, and Pythagoras thought she wanted to play tug of war, but she reminded him sternly, “No. Drop it. Drop it, or we don’t play.” She backed away from him, and he obeyed, wagging his tail and waiting for her to throw it again. Betty winged it smoothly, and Pythagoras bolted, catching it neatly in mid-air.

“Bets!” Betty heard a familiar baritone and turned to meet Jughead’s lazy grin. He straddled his blue mountain bike and leaned on the handlebars, removing his iPod’s earbuds so they could chat.

“What’s up, Juggie?”

“Who’s the pooch?”

“Pythagoras. Dilton’s puppy.”

“That’s no puppy. That’s Sasquatch.”

“He’s only two. He’s a wolfhound. They get big.”

“He’s bigger than Hot Dog.”

“You should have brought him. We could have played some catch.”

“I’m not staying long. I was headed to Pop’s and decided to shortcut this way. I’m meeting Archie.”

“Sounds nice,” Betty murmured enviously.

“Wanna come?”

“No. That’s fine, Juggie, but thanks. I’m going to let this guy get some more exercise and keep him out of Dilton’s hair for a while.” Pythagoras was getting impatient, and he rolled around in the grass again to reach an itchy spot on his back.

“The native is getting restless,” Jug noticed. 

“I’m going to give him some attention. Tell Arch I said hi.”

“If you’re still here later, maybe we’ll meet up?”

“I’ll see how long he feels like staying out here.” Betty waved the Frisbee, and Pythagoras stood on his hind legs. “He’s not ready to go,” she chuckled.

“Nope. That’s fine. Catch you later, Cooper.”

“Bye, Juggie.” Jughead pedaled off, leaving Betty to with her canine charge.

Her arm felt ready to fall off after another half an hour. Pythagoras showed no signs of slowing down, but Betty rehooked the leash to his collar, chuckling over his low whine of protest. “Sorry, boy. Your daddy will be wondering where you are. Let’s go get some water.” Betty led the hound toward a vending machine next to a street lamp and fished in her pocket for change. She fed the coins into the machine and it dispensed her a Dasani with a thunk. Pythagoras yipped as she uncapped the bottle and took a shallow gulp. “Here you go,” she promised as she knelt down beside him, beckoning to him to sit. The hound drank half the bottle, somewhat messily, before Betty decided he had enough. “Let’s go, boy! Good boy!” She scratched him behind his ears, but he seemed to have an itch that her effort hadn’t helped. He rolled over onto his back, trying to rid himself of the irritation. “Awwww... better not let your daddy see you doing that, boy. It’ll be bath time again.” Betty reached down and rubbed his belly, despite her own warning.

Betty had no way of knowing she had just become a target. Microscopic, hungry eyes watched her from the pulsing, warm vantage point, peering out from the thick forest of dark fur. She simply looked too delicious...

CHOMP!

“OW!” Betty snatched her hand away, feeling the smart and sting of something puncturing her flesh. The offensive mite’s small, hard body popped as she pinched it off of her skin and crushed it between her finger and thumb. “Ugh... nasty. Dilton, you’re slipping, buddy. Some flea remedy.” She shook her hand reflexively, disgusted at herself for getting bitten. The itch was blooming already as a tiny little red bump rose up on her skin. It was too tempting to scratch. Betty had a date with a bottle of calamine cream once she dropped Pythagoras back off at the lab.

She urged the dog home more quickly than their departure from the lab. Dilton looked up from a small bowl and pestle that he was fiddling with. “How was he?” he asked hopefully. “Not too much trouble, I hope?”

“He was a good boy,” she assured him as she handed him the leash and the water bottle. Promptly she gave in to the urge to scratch. “Darn flea bite...”

“You were bitten?” Dilton’s brows drew together. He reached for her hand and adjusted his glasses. “Ouch. That’s really red. You’re sure it was a flea?”

“It jumped off of your pooch and snacked on me,” she quipped. “Sure looked like a flea.”

“I could give you some itch cream for that.” Betty gently pulled her hand away and smiled.

“I’m fine, Dilly. I can take care of it when I get home.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, I know I have some around here somewhere...” Dilton began to rummage through drawers and cabinets, muttering under his breath.

“It’s fine! I have to get going, okay? Give him some more water, Dilton, I think he’s pretty thirsty, still.” She handed him the half-empty bottle she was holding and began to head for the door. “Thanks for letting me take him out.”

“Aw, that’s okay, Betty. Thanks for getting him out from underfoot,” he replied. “Don’t keep scratching that, it’ll just make it worse.”

“I know,” Betty murmured thoughtfully. The bite was starting to burn, but she settled for rubbing it briefly. “Bye, Dilt.” Betty left the lab and strolled down the shadow-dappled sidewalk toward home.

 

*

“Betty, dear, can you go ahead and set the table?”

“That’s fine.” Betty set down her copy of Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and headed into the kitchen. She rummaged in the cupboard for matching plates and drinking glasses while her mother pulled a large baking dish from the oven. The rich scent of pot roast filled the kitchen, stimulating Betty’s taste buds. “Mom, that smells killer.”

“I tried a different recipe. I used a little red wine in the gravy,” Alice remarked. “Call your father to the table.”

“Where is he?”

“In the den, working on the bills.”

“DAD!” Betty ducked out into the hallway, cupping her hand around her mouth. “Dinner’s ready! Let’s hurry up and sit down!” The aroma was taunting her, and her stomach growled cavernously.

“In a minute,” he insisted. “I just need my stamps, so I can walk these out to the mailbox.”

“You can stamp them after dinner,” Betty insisted; her complaint came out on a low, raspy growl that surprised her. She clapped her hand over her mouth, but not before her father raised his brow in her direction.

“Hungry?”

“Um. Yeah. Kinda.”

“It smells great,” her father agreed easily, linking arms with her as they strolled to the dining room. Alice was already pouring glasses of iced tea. The pot roast was the centerpiece of the table, steam rising from the red ceramic bakeware. Betty’s father pulled out her chair, then her mother’s, and they said grace.

“Amen. Betty, pass the salad.”

“Sure.” The colorful salad, lightly dressed in raspberry vinaigrette, didn’t appeal to her, even though it was usually her favorite. She passed it quickly to him. The pot roast dish was calling her name.

“Here, Betty, take some bread,” her mother offered after she’d helped herself to a slice of the toasted garlic baguette.

“I’m fine, Mom.” Betty tried to keep the impatience out of her tone, but she didn’t want the distractions of the other dishes. 

“That looks fantastic. Alice, you’ve outdone yourself. Let me have your plate.” Her father took the large serving spoon and scooped out a generous chunk, drizzling it with the gravy and garnishing the serving with a thick wedge of red potato. “Is that enough?”

“A couple of carrots, too, sweetie.” Betty salivated over the sight of the beef, its strings falling apart with a mere prod of the spoon. 

“Betty, pass me your plate.”

“Just the meat,” she suggested. Her father ladled up a palm-sized chunk and laid it on the plate. Betty’s stomach snarled up at her, clawing at her insides.

“How about a potato and a little carrot?” her mother prodded.

“NO! Just the meat!” 

Both of her parents eyed her quizzically. “More!” Betty demanded, unaware of how desperate she sounded. Her father quickly ladled another slab of meat onto her plate and poured a river of gravy over it. 

“Let’s remember our manners, young lady,” he chided her, pausing a moment before he handed it over.

“Sorry,” she said meekly, but it took all of her self-control not to snatch it from his hand. Betty quickly snapped open her napkin and spread it over her lap, and she tucked into the pot roast with gusto. Her parents ate at a more sedate pace, chatting idly about work. Betty went about the business of dispatching her supper, her knife barely working it apart. The flavor was hearty and rich, and Betty barely took a breath between insatiable bites.

“I need twenty dollars tomorrow to pick up the dry cleaning,” her mother remarked.

“I have a twenty in my wallet. You can have it. Do they still have my blue shirt?”

“Yes, dear. I’m going to pick up a couple of things from the market tomorrow morning, too.”

“Mmmm... like what?” Betty murmured around a mouthful.

“Swallow that, dear. Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Sorry... what are you getting at the store?” Betty recanted as she stabbed at her beef.

“Another loaf of bread. We’re out of milk. I thought I’d pick up some more coffee and some apples for a pie I might make to take to my work potluck on Friday...”

“Bacon,” Betty pounced. “Get some bacon, too.”

“Oh. We still have a half a pack left, dear.”

“Go ahead and get another pack, just in case. Or two.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m not making the big trip for another couple of days, Betty.”

“Well, why wait til then to run out?” Betty down half of her iced tea, then regretted it. Plain water would have been more refreshing than the sweet, minty beverage; the sugar played at odds with the saltiness of the beef. She chased away the flavor with another savory mouthful of pot roast.

“You must be going through a growth spurt,” her father murmured. Betty held out her empty plate expectantly.

“Seconds?”


	3. Hot and Bothered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty isn't feeling like herself. Her friends notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, if you are. I am migrating the updates for this story to AO3 going forward from DeviantArt. The uploader is friendlier.

"Bets? Do you have Flutesnoot's chemistry notes?" Jughead asked, voice garbled by the mouthful of granola bar that he had crammed into it. "Bets?" Betty wasn't listening, and he stared at her while she sat fidgeting in her seat. "Yo." Betty's head jerked up, and her blue eyes darted toward him. A deep flush rose into her cheeks.

“What?”

“Flutesnoot’s notes. I fell asleep through half of the lecture,” he admitted. Betty continued to look uncomfortable, and to his amusement, she rubbed her back against the back board of her chair in an attempt to scratch an itch.

“Yeah. Give me a second. Better yet, you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. Seriously. Scratch my back. It’s driving me nuts, Juggie.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jughead leaned over when Betty angled herself forward, revealing her slender back, and he gingerly scratched the space above her shoulder blades.

“Ooh! Yes! Keep going, Juggie. Oh, God…”

“That sounds… embarrassingly suggestive. You’re gonna make people stare, Bets.”

“Sorry, but please, don’t stop!” Betty’s heel jittered beneath the desk as Jughead found the offending, maddening itch with his blunt fingernails, and he dug in with a little more gusto. 

“So, notes?”

“Bless you. Yes.” Betty leaned down and dug into her backpack, took out her three-ring binder, and flipped to her chemistry notebook. She slid the whole thing across the study table at him. “Here you go.”

"I don't know why I'm so itchy today. Feels like I'm gonna come out of my skin." Then, she considered, "Or like it doesn't fit right."

"Weird."

"I know. Now a little more to the left." Jughead leaned back in and resumed scratching. Her eyes shuddered in exaggerated relief. "Thank youuuuuu..."

"All right. That's enough of that." Jughead flushed slightly, hoping none of their neighbors in study hall heard her groan, because _reasons_. He removed his hands and shoved them into his hoodie pockets while Betty straightened up.

"That's better. Phew... I don't know what's going on. Maybe Mom switched laundry detergent. Can't remember the last time I was this itchy."

"Eat anything weird? Maybe you have a food allergy. Which, y'know, would suck for you." In Jug's opinion, anyway.

"No." Breakfast had been a slice of white toast with grape jelly and coffee regular in a commuter cup on the way to school. Betty felt bereft that she woke up too late to fry up some bacon. It was inevitable that she woke up late, though.

She had tossed and turned all night.

Betty supposed she could blame it on the third helping of spare ribs that she snuck after midnight, once she heard her parents snoring down the hall. Her stomach growled disturbingly, a hollow, implacable sound; there had been no ignoring it. When she crept out into the hallway, her footsteps sounded uncharacteristically loud to her, despite her attempts to tread lightly, but the snoring's pattern never changed or paused, and she made it downstairs without any interruption. Betty tugged the refrigerator door open and felt her mouth watering at the right of the foil-covered dish. There were about ten ribs left. She felt guilty, knowing that her father would no doubt want them for his lunch the next day, but the scent of the rich pork, marinated in a peppery, sweet glaze, banished all of her good intentions. She escaped into the laundry room, locked the door behind her, and crouched down and devoured the ribs, sucking the bones dry. It was so satisfying, tearing into the meat with her teeth, hearing the rough sound of it separating from the bone. She licked her messy fingers with no shame. The hunger eased enough for her to return to bed and drift off to sleep.

Her mind, fueled by her snack, refused to stay quiet, and her dreams ran rampant with strange images and sensations. Betty dreamt that she was running through the brush, over fields, down pavement... the landscape was familiar, but for some reason, it was dark in her dream. The glare from street lamps hurt her eyes... She was hyper-aware of her surroundings, even the most minute sounds were amplified over the sound of her own ragged breathing.

_Why was she breathing so raggedly? ___

__Her body felt leaden when she woke up. Betty literally crawled into the shower. Mornings weren't her friend, lately. She glared out the window at the sun, so annoyingly golden and blinding. Her mouth tasted like paste, and she ran her tongue over her teeth. There was a hunk of pork lodged between her incisors. “Hmm,” she wondered as she picked at it, shucking her shortie PJ’s and stepping into the shower._ _

__Jughead used his camera phone to take pictures of her notes before their study hall teacher could catch him, using a little scanning app so he could email and print them for himself when he got home. The itch was working its way back, but Betty suppressed the urge to scratch._ _

__She was successful until the bell rang, but once she was out in the corridor, her senses were assailed with nose. And too many scents._ _

__Axe body spray. Curve perfume, the ones from Target. Rubber sneaker soles. Post gym class BO. Friday’s pizza wafting through the vent from the cafeteria. Betty flinched at the barrage of sound attacking her from all sides. Slamming locker doors. The bang of classroom doors being banged open and teachers calling after her classmates to stop being so rough with school property. The rough zip of backpacks. Spotify blasting through earbuds, and _how on earth was she hearing it through someone else’s earbuds,_ as if she were sitting next to a stereo speaker?_ _

__So many footsteps pounding over the sandy-looking, hard tile. Betty’s heart hammered and she felt her skin break out in sweat. She flinched at the sensation of someone coming up from behind her, and she whirled on Veronica, who jumped back slightly, hand poised to tap her on the shoulder._ _

__“Hey, Betty, I-aaaiiieeeee!” She huffed, making a sound like a curse as her hand flew up to her chest. “Don’t DO that!” Her dark blue eyes were wide, and Betty shook off her surprise._ _

__“Sorry. Gosh, I’m a wreck today. Sorry, Ronnie,” she apologized again._ _

__“You were in your own little world.”_ _

__“Hey. I _like_ my own little world. Beats going to Algebra II.”_ _

__“That it does,” Ron agreed, looping her hand through the crook of Betty’s arm. Betty raised her eyebrows as Ronnie escorted her in the direction of their next class._ _

__“Okay. Why do you have that look?”_ _

__“What look, Bettykins?”_ _

__“Okay. You only call me that when you want something. Something BIG and time-consuming and insane.”_ _

__“Not _that_ time-consuming,” Veronica pleaded, but her innocent smile didn’t fool Betty. Not one bit. “I just need to borrow your sewing skills.”_ _

__“What, to actually make you something?”_ _

__“No. Well. Not _really_. I just need my brilliant, talented, gorgeous best friend-“_ _

__“-someone’s laying it on thick-“_ _

__“- to do some alterations on a dress for me.”_ _

__“Oh. That doesn’t sound horrible.”_ _

__“YAY!” Veronica released her and clapped her hands like a child, then gave her a peck on the cheek. “I will love you forever!”_ _

__“Can’t the shop you bought it from alter it?” Betty had to ask, since, despite her talents, she hated alterations._ _

__“They were going to charge me two hundred dollars! That’s about a fifth of what I paid for it,” Veronica reasoned. “Normally, I wouldn’t care, but when I told Daddy, he almost shot through the roof.”_ _

__“Can’t imagine why,” Betty muttered._ _

__“Neither can I! He would actually have me go out in something ill-fitted-“_ _

__“Instead of taking it back to the store.”_ _

__“Pffft. Don’t _you_ start, Betty Cooper.” Betty knew that was a losing argument, too. Veronica being sent to the store to return a dress usually resulted in her trying on half the other items in the store on her way out. No _wonder_ Mr. Lodge had a conniption. “So. When can you pick it up?”_ _

__Betty sighed, deflating with the gust of air leaving her chest. “Ohhhh. Fiiiiiine. Later. Okay? Let me pop by after dinner.”_ _

__“Oh. That late?”_ _

__“Um, Ronnie? I have booster club today. And I have to study for a French test.”_ _

__“No, you don’t. You know the material up, down, left, right and sideways,” Veronica argued._ _

__Which wasn’t inaccurate. But still._ _

__“That doesn’t mean I have all the time in the world to work on altering your dress.”_ _

__“I don’t need ‘all the time in the world.’” Veronica made quotey fingers around the claim. “I just need it by tomorrow night.”_ _

__“Geez… Ronnie. Seriously?” Betty’s mouth dropped open. “That’s not giving me much slack!”_ _

__“I have faith in you!”_ _

__That wasn’t helping._ _

__Then Ronnie heard the bell. “Ooh. Right. I’ve got home ec. Why don’t you stop by after booster club?”_ _

__“I have to start making dinner.”_ _

__“Oh. You have to _cook_?” Veronica wrinkled her nose. Gaston took care of that in her house, Betty remembered sourly. In the meantime, Betty was tired, frazzled, irritated, and still itching like a thousand fleas were jumping around under her skin. Plus, she was _starved_._ _

__“Yes. Some of us do that.”_ _

__“Poor baby.” Veronica’s mouth was a moue of sympathy, or what passed for it with Betty’s best friend._ _

__“Can’t you just drop it off?”_ _

__“Ooh. No. Can’t. I have a nail appointment.”_ _

__Betty fumed, fighting back the growl rising in her chest. An honest-to-goodness growl. She blew out a slow breath and mentally counted to three._ _

__“Must be nice. Well. Enjoy your French tips. I’ll come by after booster club.” She rehearsed her apology speech to her mother in her head._ _

__“You’re a peach! MWAH!” She gave her another peck and rushed off. “Bye!”_ _

__“Later,” Betty muttered, waving with no enthusiasm. That was her day, sorted._ _

__The rest of her day didn’t go any better. Betty pounded out some of her aggression in P.E. They were playing dodgeball, and her throwing arm felt a little stronger. She took out Moose, Dilton and Chuck in the first three minutes of the match. Moose just looked stunned when she nailed him between the eyes with the small red ball._ _

__“What the…? Hey, Blondie, what’s the deal?” He threw up his hands, but Kleats blew his whistle and waved him out. He looked over his shoulder, eyes reflecting Betty’s betrayal, but a small voice inside her rejoiced. It felt _good_ to get in those hits._ _

__“Cooper’s on fire today,” Chuck mused as he headed for the bleachers._ _

__“No kidding,” Dilton chimed in. The team from the left side of the gym was beginning to dwindle on the court as they drifted up to the penalty seats. Betty was all over the court, picking up stray balls and hurling them with little to no mercy. As she dodged Reggie’s shot, she plowed into Midge and knocked her over. It wasn’t difficult, given Midge’s petite stature._ _

__“OW! Hey, Bets, take it easy!”_ _

__“Sorry!”_ _

__“Watch where you’re going, a girl could get hurt!”_ _

__“I said SORRY!” Betty snarled, and she took umbrage by smacking her in the shoulder with the ball she was holding. “There. Go recover over there.” She waved over at the bleachers. Midge gaped._ _

__“Coach, is that legal?”_ _

__“It’s not. Cooper, you’re out,” Kleats informed her, blowing his whistle. The blast was shrill, cutting across Betty’s nerves._ _

__“WHAT?!?”_ _

__“You heard me! OUT!”_ _

__Betty fumed and stalked off the court. To her consternation, her classmates shifted away from her on the bleachers, not trusting her dark scowl and hunched posture. Betty sat and glared for the rest of the game, one leg crossed over the other and arms folded, nose _completely_ out of joint._ _

__The second match went just as quickly as the first after the teams rotated and traded sides of the court. Betty played with little restraint, tagging the same people out in almost the same order, grinning when she saw them duck out of the way of her shots just to get tagged by Ethel’s instead. The normally awkward brunette was actually really good at dodgeball and had a long reach for scooping up stray balls and taking out the stronger players. Betty and Ethel exchanged a wicked look and cleaned up the court until Archie and Reggie were the only two players left._ _

__“Wow,” Midge muttered. “Who peed in Betty’s Cheerios this morning?”_ _

__“That wasn’t pee. It was steroids,” Chuck corrected her._ _

__“No kidding. Homegirl’s on fire today,” Toni added. “She made me break a nail.”_ _

__“That hit she got me with’s gonna leave a mark,” Moose complained._ _

__“How many fingers am I holding up?” Dilton asked, trying to make light of it._ _

__“Four. Why do they all look like your pointer finger?”_ _

__“Because it’s just one, big guy.”_ _

__Reggie grinned across the court. “Is that the best you guys can do? Goldilocks and the string bean?”_ _

__“Reg,” Archie muttered. “Don’t make this worse.”_ _

__“Pssshhhh… please. Ethel can’t hit the side of a barn, and the most Betty can manage is a little love tap with that ball. YOU’VE GOT NO GAME, COOPER!”_ _

__“Ooh! YOU!” Betty flung the ball, and his body arced in a comical curve as he dodged it. His grin was broad and self-indulgent._ _

__“Neener-neener boo-boo! Poor Cooper, you gonna cry-i-yIIIIIEEEEEE!”_ _

__The last sight he saw was Betty’s furious face before she nailed him head on. Reggie could swear those were stars and tweeting birds he saw spinning around his head before he stumbled back and hit the court with a splat._ _

__Archie dropped his ball and held his hands up. “I give! I GIVE! UNCLE! I surrender!” The small red ball bounced loose, skittering across the floor, and Ethel stared down at Betty in surprise and confusion._ _

__“Dang,” she mused. “Betty, that was hard core.”_ _

__“What? We won,” she told her. “Don’t leave me hanging, Ethel.” She held up her hand for a five, and Ethel numbly complied, then scuttled off to start putting balls into the net bag when Kleats blasted his whistle and jogged over to check on Reggie. Archie was helping him up, and Reggie was starting warily at Betty._ _

__Betty cringed slightly, feeling the euphoria of a game well played slip away. For a moment, she caught the metallic tang of something radiating from him._ _

__Fear._ _

__Had she put that there?_ _

__“You’re a beast, Cooper,” Reggie called out as he wandered off the court. Betty and Ethel helped put the balls away, and Betty flushed during Coach’s lecture about sportsmanship and how horseplay wasn’t allowed on school property. He marched her to his office and showed her the copy of the school conduct contract she signed at the beginning of the year. Betty suddenly felt very, very small._ _

__And claustrophobic. Coach’s office felt like a shoebox. She longed for the spaciousness of the gym, or to go outside._ _

__“Are we understanding each other? Did I make myself clear?”_ _

__“Crystal, sir.”_ _

__“Go. I’m taking five points off your score today. Sportsmanship still counts as part of your grade.”_ _

__Chastened, she went to go change._ _

__*_ _

__At least she managed not to get detention. She sat through her booster club meeting, but her mind kept wandering during Miss Grundy’s suggestions for the next football team car wash fundraiser. They took out neon-colored poster boards to start making signs to post around the town’s rec center, but she was distracted._ _

__She’d scrawled a sketch of Reggie getting hit in the head with a ball in pencil before she realized that she was supposed to be using the block print stencil instead. He’d just made her so _mad_._ _

__“How’s it coming over here with the …posters?” Miss Grundy asked. She squinted down at Betty’s work. “I don’t think that will sell that many car wash tickets, Elizabeth.”_ _

__“Heh. Um. Can’t I have another poster board? Or, an eraser?”_ _

__She managed to make three posters, this time with more appropriate sketches of sparkling cars and water drops and glitter glue. She begged off of making anymore and told Miss Grundy that she needed to go home, which really meant that she had to go to Ron’s._ _

__“Thanks for coming,” Miss Grundy told her. “Always a pleasure. We appreciate your contributions, kiddo.”_ _

__“Sure. Bye, ma’am.” Betty felt herself flushing. She didn’t feel like she’d contributed anything, and she was still just oddly unsettled. It was autumn, and the sun was setting earlier, now. She saw it slowly drifting below the treeline, and suddenly, that itchy feeling was back. Betty felt her stomach knotting with tension, and something like… _excitement_._ _

__“I need to get home,” she muttered as she climbed into her tiny Honda Civic. But she found herself driving downtown, navigating through stoplights and into the more affluent neighborhoods, past the golf court and Riverdale’s country club. She rounded the block into the Lodge’s cul-de-sac and slowed to a stop to let the iron gates open for her when she tripped the sensor. She waved up at the moving video camera that followed her progress inside the courtyard, and she parked in the circular driveway. By the time she reached the front stoop, Smithers was already holding open the door, and he had the garment bag slung over his arm._ _

__“Miss Lodge is still at her manicurist appointment,” he informed her._ _

__“French tips,” she agreed._ _

__“And a pedicure. It was a spontaneous decision, Miss Cooper.”_ _

__“Doubt that. Yeah. I doubt that.” Smithers raised one dark brow and his lips twitched with a smile he wouldn’t quite allow. He handed her the garment bag and a note._ _

__“That is the list of specifications of the alterations she wishes you to make to her gown.”_ _

__Betty sighed. So now she basically had to read Ronnie’s mind and figure out how to fix her dress. Great._ _

__“Okay. Thank you, Smithers. I have to go home and make dinner.”_ _

__“I’m sure it will be delicious.”_ _

__“Yeah. Thanks. G’night.”_ _

__“Good night, Miss Cooper.” Suddenly he frowned. “Erm, pardon my temerity, miss, but have you been scratching?”_ _

__“Hmm?”_ _

__“You have a slight rash breaking out on your wrists.”_ _

__And she did, small, itchy red bumps. Betty moaned in dismay._ _

__“Wow, something got under my skin. I must have brushed up against something. I’m breaking out in hives.” And she felt an odd wave of sensation, a rush of heat pass over her flesh as she stared down at the little red spots. She really wanted to get home._ _

__“A nice oatmeal bath might soothe it,” Smithers suggested helpfully. “And a bit of calamine lotion when you get out.”_ _

__“Thanks again, Smithers.”_ _

__She headed home, texting her mother before she started the engine that she was running late, and that she was sorry that dinner was going to be late._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You knew Reggie had that dodge ball to the face coming.


	4. Up All Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things that go bump in the night? Mice. Squirrels. Cats. And... teenage girls?
> 
> Betty's mind wanders in her sleep. Her feet soon follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and for commenting if the mood strikes you. This is going to get sillier.

"Anyone seen Betty?" Midge mentioned after the first period bell rang. The blonde had been conspicuously absent from home room, and Miss Grundy murmured aloud that the attendance office never called her with confirmation that she was out sick. That was odd; Betty won the perfect attendance award every year ever since third grade.

"Not yet," Chuck confirmed, wondering that himself when Miss Grundy called his name, and he hadn't heard Betty pipe up with her usual, upbeat "Present!" next. "Why? She owe you money?"

"No. I wanted to borrow a really cool skirt she wore last week for a date. I texted her last night, but she never messaged me back."

Chuck shrugged. "No clue."

Miss Grundy finished scrawling the classwork assignment on the blackboard, briskly wiping chalk dust from her hands. "All right, who read their chapter that I assigned last night on Alexander the Great?" A few hands slowly rose around the room. "All right, Dilton, can you tell me-" Before she could finish her question, with Dilton poised to give her a dissertation-length answer, the classroom door swung open quickly and Betty loped inside...

...or someone with Betty's face. The body was a bit of mystery.

"Holy smokes," Jughead muttered as she sat in her usual seat in the front row, looking calm and unapologetic. She also didn't have a late slip from the office. Miss Grundy blinked, then folded her arms.

"How nice of you to grace us with your presence, Cooper. Do you have something for me?"

"Is it your birthday, Miss Grundy?" Betty asked.

"No. It's not." 

"Then I don't have anything for you."

"Not even a slip from the office?"

"Nnnnope." Betty yawned cavernously, arms stretching to telegraph her lack of interest. "Guess I forgot."

"She forgot the rest of her clothes, too," Midge told Chuck, who nodded in response. "My mom wouldn't let me walk out of the house like that."

"Girl, you and me both," Nancy chimed in on a whisper from the desk in front of Midge's. "Elizabeth's gonna catch a cold. And what's up with the sass?" Miss Grundy raised her eyebrow in her patented _This Better Be Good_ face that she reserved for claims of homework that got eaten by dogs.

"I can't mark you present without a late slip," Miss Grundy reminded her.

"Technically, you can," Betty countered. "You just check the box."

"Oooooooooo," Chuck murmured under his breath. His stomach clenched with anticipation and concern, because this was _not_ Betty Cooper smarting off with their toughest teacher, especially when she was her favorite pupil.

A heavy pause settled between the two. Miss Grundy looked like she was battling with a difficult decision.

"Did you read the chapter last night, Betty?"

"Yup."

"All right. See me after class." Miss Grundy went back to her lecture questions, letting Dilton answer the first six, since calling on anyone else would have likely made his hand fall off from raising it so much. Betty participated at a minimum, rattling off which philosopher Alexander studied under and which year he invaded India with a bored expression. Her friends in class cringed slightly; this wasn't like Betty, at all.

Miss Grundy took Betty aside at her desk, where she waited, books balanced on her hip and looking bored while her teacher reminded her of the school's late policy, asked if everything was all right, and handed her a small pink slip both for the lack of a late note, and her unfortunate wardrobe choice.

Nancy waited for her outside of the room, bidding Chuck a quick goodbye before catching Betty as she passed the bank of lockers. "Hey. What's up? Why were you so late? And what the heck is that you have on?"

"Just something I threw together. It was laundry day," Betty offered. "And I overslept. It's no big deal."

"You're usually out like a light by nine," Nancy reminded her. Sleepovers were exceptions, but even then, Betty was usually yawning and slumping in front of whatever movie they Red Boxed, bowl of popcorn forgotten. Betty Cooper was a morning person, up with the sun and ready to put her best face out there and get work done. "Aren't you getting a draft in that get-up?"

"What? What's the big deal?"

"Those jeans have built-in air conditioning." They were ripped and shredded in interesting places, revealing a lot of Betty's fair skin, certainly not up to Riverdale High's dress code. She also had on a cropped top that sagged off the shoulder with slashes across the back. Tantalizing bits of sports bra and actual _skin_ were on display. 

Strangest of all was her makeup. Instead of her usual light pink lip gloss and clear mascara, Betty lined her eyes in dark kohl and used a generous hand with her eye shadow. Her lipstick was an almost garish shade of _red_. Maybe she didn't have enough time to pick a decent outfit, Nancy decided, but she _did_ make time to raid her cosmetics bag. Her hair was loose and wild, not bound back in her usual, tidy ponytail.

What _really_ wigged Nancy out, though, was the way heads - male heads - turned as she cruised down the hall in that outfit. Nancy noticed Frankie and Maria chatting by the lockers, then heard his low "Ow!" of surprise when Maria slugged him for practically spinning his neck off his shoulders to do a double-take.

"Wanna head to the Chok'lit Shoppe today?" Nancy inquired.

"I don't think I have anything else to... oh, shoot!" 

"What's wrong?"

"I have to go to Ron’s. She needs help on her mid-term project for history.”

Nancy rolled her eyes to the ceiling, sighing. “Woman, cut her _loose_. Veronica can hire a tutor!”

Yet a tutor wouldn’t do eighty percent of the actual _work_ while Veronica scrawled her name on it in her girlish handwriting and gleefully turned it in. Betty blew out a frustrated breath.

It sounded suspiciously like a growl.

“You seem a little off,” Nancy mentioned.

“Nope. Right as rain.”

“So no malt shop today, then?”

“Sorry.”

“Guess I’ll just have to settle for _Chuck,_ ” Nancy told her, giving Betty the full blame. “You owe me a girl’s day out. Remember that, Cooper.”

Betty staggered under the weight of Veronica’s stack of references as Smithers let them inside the house. Betty nearly twisted her ankle as she stumbled over the landing at the front door. Smithers mercifully caught her by the elbow when Veronica breezed inside without offering any help.

*

“Just set those down on the kitchen table, Betty.”

“Miss Veronica means the dining room table,” Smithers corrected her. “Gaston has commandeered the kitchen table for his latest experiment with green salsa.” A quick glance around the corner of the kitchen doorway as Betty wandered past told her exactly that. The kitchen table was covered in open bags of produce, mixing bowls, cutting knifes, and a Corian chopping board. Gaston stood busily peeling and chunking tomatillos at the counter, humming tunelessly under his breath. Gaston looked up as she passed and smiled. “Bonjour, mamselle!” he called out.

“Bonjour,” Betty offered as she finally deposited the books on the dining table. Smithers cleared the table settings from half of it to make room for the girls – more accurately, for _Betty_ \- to study.

“We’d better get a move on with those note cards,” Veronica informed her as she came out of the kitchen with two diet sodas. 

“Oh. Good. Did you take notes in class?”

“Uh-uh.”

Because of _course_ not. “It’s usually a good idea, Ron.”

“Cheryl was texting me. She had a free period. She was showing me the dress she bought during Fashion Week. I know navy blue is the new black, but it looks drab with her hair, and-“

“Ron. Let’s get to work. Please.”

“Someone’s grumpy. Here. Drink this.” Veronica shoved the soda into Betty’s hand, and Betty was pacified by the offer of caffeine. The can was still nice and cold as she popped it open. The sweet, fizzy scent tickled her nostrils, and she felt her mouth watering slightly as she took the first sip.

She gagged and coughed at the sickeningly sweet taste, at the rush of bubbles over her tongue, burning the roof of her mouth and throat as it went down. “Betty… what’s wrong, sweetie? Did it go down the wrong pipe?”

“Eeerrggghh… no. Yes. Ugh…” Betty continued to cough, and Veronica gave her several unhelpful whacks on the back.

“Someone can’t hold their drink.”

“Very…*karrrgggh* funny.”

The soda didn’t agree with her. Veronica didn’t notice when Betty left the remainder of it sitting on the dainty cork coaster that Smithers set out while they – while _Betty_ \- studied. Veronica occasionally scribbled down Betty’s suggestions on the note cards, but she spent more time planning out her outfit to wear on the day she gave her report, texting Cheryl, and worst of all, calling Archie. Irritation raised Betty’s hackles. She itched absently at the nape of her neck.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just. Something. Under. My skin.” Itch. Itch. Itch. _Itch_.

“Maybe you need some moisturizer. Your skin _does_ look a little dry.”

“Yeah. _Not helping_.”

Smithers hovered nearby, and after an hour, he offered them a snack of their choice.

“A veggie tray might be nice,” Veronica told him, but Betty held up her hand.

“Smithers, do you have anything with a little meat?”

“Oh? Perhaps some beef jerky? Or some tuna on crackers?”

“Yes, please.”

“Which one, Betty?” Veronica inquired.

“Both of them. And does Gaston have any of his leftover chicken wings?”

“Uh…” Veronica looked flummoxed. “That’s some _snack_ , Betty.”

“I’m a growing girl.” 

Smithers sighed. “Very good, miss.” Betty regretted her greed, but her stomach growled, loud and insistent. Even Veronica kept glancing down in the general direction of Betty’s mid-section.

“Take it easy. Does nobody feed you?”

“I had an early lunch.” No earlier than usual, but the hunger had been fierce, creeping back up on her twenty minutes after finishing lunch, an unremarkable goulash that was Miss Beazly’s special of the day.

"Well, take it easy. You're not going to fit into your clothes if you overdo it," Veronica sniffed. Betty narrowed her eyes.

“What’s _THAT_ supposed to mean?”

“Betty, just take it easy on the snacks.”

“Because, why? Are you telling me I’m going to get fat? It’s a _snack._ ”

Veronica attempted to give her a pacifying look. “Betty, that’s not what I was-“

“Then what were you trying to say? That I’m a tubbo?” Betty’s voice rose, and she threw up her hands. “That’s what your saying, right? Because you’re always right about this kind of thing? You’re perfect, so you get to be the judge of everyone else?”

“Betty. Chill. Please. Where’s this coming from?”

“This?” Betty scooched back her chair from the table and rose to her feet in one smooth motion, heedless of the tracks the pegs were likely to leave on the Lodge’s immaculate, expensive floors. “This is me, getting tired of your crap.”

Veronica’s eyes widened, and she gaped. “Betty! Seriously? What did I even say?”

“Nothing. You were just giving unwanted advice _as usual_ and your usual little catty remarks like you didn’t just hurt my feelings. Just a typical day when I come to your castle, Your Majesty.”

_Whoa_.

Betty saw her friend growing more annoyed as she spat out those words through a thick red haze, heat rising up into her ears and fanning out over her chest. She ignored the sensible voices in the back of her head telling her she needed a time-out. 

“I came over here to help you, because you’re _hopeless_ when it comes to getting your own work done, or doing anything that doesn’t involve a dive into your closet or getting work done. News flash, Veronica: It isn’t ‘natural beauty’ when you have to work that hard for it.”

Veronica’s scowl collapsed, and her eyes filled. She clapped her hands over her mouth and rushed out of the room. “J-just get out!” Veronica called behind her. “SMITHERS!”

…and that was how Betty found herself bums’ rushed out the door.

Betty, still smarting from their fight, muttered and grumbled under her breath the whole way home, deciding to skip going to Pop’s. “Who does she think she is? I asked for a snack. What was the big deal? Wasn’t like she didn’t have a Whole Foods stocked in her refrigerator, anyway. Spoiled princess.” 

It wasn’t even the food. Betty couldn’t pin down why she was so _angry_ all of the sudden. Everything just… felt too sharp. Everything chafed. She itched, and she was aggravated, and people’s voices and other sounds that usually didn’t bother her were way too _loud_. She was already several blocks away from Veronica’s mansion, and she felt like she could _still_ smell the green salsa Gaston was making.

She was still in a sulk when she reached her house. Betty came stomping inside, closing the front door harder than it needed to be. Hal looked up from his laptop at the coffee table.

“Whoa, whoa… no need to be so rough. Hey, what do you have on, young lady?”

“What?” Betty snapped. “What’s wrong with what I have on?”

“Hmmmm. Let’s see… there isn’t enough of it, for one,” Alice chimed in from the kitchen doorway, where she was stirring a bowl with a wooden spoon. “There’s too much ventilation and not enough actual fabric. It’s wrinkled. It’s not age-appropriate. You look sloppy. And your face needs an adjustment. Don’t you speak to your father like that, Elizabeth.”

_Uh-oh._ Once Alice hauled out the formal names, it was game over. Betty clapped her mouth shut, then stared down at the floor in shame.

“Why are you so upset?” Alice prodded.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Don’t take it out on the house,” Hal advised. “Go upstairs and change. Wash up for supper.”

“Fine.” Her voice was hard, just shy of a growl, and she rushed upstairs before she could be called back or scrounge anything resembling an apology.

“What’s gotten into her?” Alice murmured.

“I don’t know. But I wish it would get out. Someone had an off day.” Alice nodded, heading back into the kitchen to finish her sauce.

Betty hurled her backpack onto her bed, flopped down next to it and tugged off her shoes. She flung those across the room, not caring where they landed, and she groaned loud and long in disgust at herself. “Ugh… WHY?” she said aloud. She flopped onto her back, throwing up one hand and letting it drop. 

Okay. She heard her parents’ questions as though she had stayed in the room. She still heard it through the floor, even though they were speaking in hushed tones.

“ _Maybe it’s just hormones._ ”

“ _Maybe it’s that Andrews boy again. I don’t know what she sees in him, honestly._ ”

“ _Don’t let your baby girl hear you say that. She thinks he practically walks on water._ ”

“ _Hmmmmph… wish he would walk off a short pier to test that out._ ”

“ _FRED!_ ”

“ _What?_ ”

Well. That wasn’t very nice. First, her best friend called her fat (kind of). Now her parents were throwing shade at her choice of boyfriend? What was up with that? Was _everybody_ against Betty today?

Her stomach growled again, reminding her that she’d neglected it. “Don’t _you_ start,” she scolded. 

*

Dilton fiddled around in his lab, one beaker hovering over the large tumbler on the work table, but he winced, concentration broken, when he heard Pythagoras whine. “What’s wrong, boy?” His measurements had to be exact, and his calculations were sensitive. One drop too many into his formula would have dire effects. But his wolf hound was scratching and rubbing his whole body against the corner of the counter, worrying at the spot that bothered him.

“Hmmmm.” Dilton put the beaker down and went to his dog, beckoning to him. “C’mere, boy.” His dog whined piteously, but he obeyed. Dilton tugged on his collar gently, guiding him over to the other side of the lab and turning on a halogen lamp. Bright white light flooded the space, and Dilton put on his small headband magnifier and a pair of gloves.

“Hmmmmm,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Let’s get a look at what’s eating you, boy.” He lowered the magnifier over his eye and examined the spot, spreading apart the tufts of fur with his fingers. “That spot looks kinda chewed on,” he remarked. “Let’s see. Okay. That… that looks ominous, boy.” Dilton noticed a ripple of movement within the dog’s thick fur, and he leaned in closer. 

It was an unusually large flea. “Ew,” he hissed, wincing. “Ouch. That looks like a mean critter,” Dilton told him. The dog whimpered in agreement, thumping its tail. “Let me get it. You’re going to have to hold still, boy.”

Dilton wrestled the dog under the crook of his arm and managed to get a pair of tweezers out of his lab coat pocket. He squinted in concentration, trying to trap the parasite, and he managed to wrap the tips of his tweezers around its exoskeleton and tug. “Stubborn little mite…”

Pythagoras kept whimpering, and Dilton was worried for a moment that he was losing the battle with this bug. It had strong… teeth. “C’mon, you nasty little… there! There we go. _Whoa._ ”

He prized it off the dog and brandished it up high, letting the light glint off of it. The flea was huge, wriggling furiously in response to being taken away from its supper.

“Holey moley,” Dilton muttered. “That’s… this is very bad.” Dilton hurried across the lab, being careful with the flea, clamping it tight within the tweezer’s tips. He rummaged one-handed in a drawer and withdrew a petri dish, pouring a few drops of fixative into it to immobilize it. Those legs kept wriggling, and if Dilton didn’t know better, he could have sworn he heard the creature hiss at him in defiance. “No need to act up,” Dilton muttered. He took the dish and slid it onto the platform of his microscope, turning up the magnification.

“Let’s get a good look at you. By rights, you should be taking a dirt nap,” Dilton told the bug. He moved the dish to get a better look at the bug. Then he found an entymology manual on his work table and flipped through it. “Fleas, fleas... anatomy. Hmmm. Interesting. _Ctenocephalides canis_. Okay. What are these markings? And why do you look so much larger than the usual specimen?”

Odd. Very odd, indeed. “Hmmmmmmm…”

*

Betty endured a lecture from her parents over dinner that left her embarrassed and irritated by turns.

“Sit up straight. Stop hunching over like that. It’s bad for your posture,” Alice chided.

“You look like a dog sulking in a corner,” Hal added, shaking his head.

“No, I don’t!” Betty argued. They were as bad as Veronica.

“Sorry,” Hal offered. “But don’t sulk. And slouch.”

“It’s bad for your digestion, too. You seem hungry today.”

“I didn’t get anything to eat after school.”

“I’m surprised. You’d think the Lodges would have fed you something fancy. Ask for a B and J, get roast duck,” Hal wondered.

“No. Not today. I didn’t stay.”

“Why?” Alice paused in pouring gravy over her mashed potatoes.

“Veronica and I had a fight.”

“Oh. Okay. You were about due.”

“Pfffttt… what??” Betty looked indignant.

“You have to keep your usual schedule. I could set me watch by the two of you when you have your tiffs,” Hal claimed. “Usually about every other week.”

“Tuesday: Go to the mall. Wednesday: Study at the library. Thursday: ‘I’m not speaking to her, Mom. Veronica talked Archie into going with her to homecoming.’”

“Clockwork.” Hal stuffed a bite of chicken into his mouth.

Betty fumed, crossing her arms under her breasts. “That’s not fair.”

“Betty, it’s okay. Friends fight.”

“Friends are jerks. I’m done with Veronica Lodge. All she does is criticize me and try to steal Archie from me.” Hectic spots of color rose into the crowns of her cheeks. “I hate Veronica.”

“Betty,” Alice hissed in shock. “No, you don’t. That’s not nice. Things will look better tomorrow, sweetie.”

“Maybe you should go to bed a little earlier tonight. You’re pretty cranky.”

“I am NOT CRANKY.”

“Ohhhh, yes, you are,” Alice informed her. “That’s enough. Clear your plate. I’ll take care of the dishes, but you need to go to your room. No laptop, no tablet, no iPod, and no TV. I’d better not find a light on under the door when I go up. Go straight to bed.”

“Mom! What am I, five?”

“If you’re in the mood to act that old. I’m betting on four right about now,” Hal said dryly. “Go to bed. Things will look better in the morning, but don’t wake up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Betty shoved herself back from the table, plate in hand. She stalked into the kitchen, miserably scraping the scant remainder of her second helpings into the garbage. But she stole the jar of peanut butter and a spoon from the counter first and skedaddled out of the kitchen, sprinting up the stairs. It was the only other thing that appealed to her right now, a guilty pleasure. Betty loved peanut butter anyway, but she couldn’t trouble herself with making a sandwich. She devoured the peanut butter in greedy spoonfuls once she reached the shelter and quiet of her room. She noticed her phone flashing with unread texts from Veronica, but she ignored them. 

Once the jar was half empty, Betty got herself dressed for bed. She dumped all of her dirty clothes into the hamper, burying the tattered jeans under the pile. She hoped her mother didn’t try to throw them out. Betty brushed her teeth and washed her face with her exfoliating scrub, daubed on some pimple cream, and braided her hair into two pigtails to keep it off her neck. Betty wasn’t even tired. She turned off her overhead light and switched to her lamp with its low-wattage bulb, and she contented herself with reading her issue of _Marie Claire_ for a few minutes, hoping it would make her drowsy and relax.

She got halfway through a quiz on “How Compatible Are You With Your Bestie?” (her score was appallingly low; the column accompanying it said “Perhaps you should weigh the benefits of continuing your friendship over finding other people with more common interests, mindsets and goals. Holding onto them might gradually lead to things becoming toxic between you.”) when her mother’s feet came up the stairs.

“Bed, now,” Alice warned.

“I’m just reading!”

“Better not be anything online. Go to bed, Betty.”

“Fine,” she huffed, throwing as much disdain into that single word as she could muster, giving her mother’s argument that she needed to turn in early _way_ too much fuel.

Betty chucked the magazine on the floor and leaned over to turn off the lamp. She got out of bed long enough to say her evening prayers, keeping them briefer than usual – perhaps it was mean of her to shorten her list of people to bless – and then crossed the room to crack her window open. The draft of cool, fresh air felt good, bringing in the faint sounds and scents of the outdoors. That helped, soothing her, and she climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her chest. 

It took a while to settle down, but the buzz of her thoughts died down in volume as she ran the events of the day on a slow reel. She wished she had a better day in class. She wished she had gone with Nancy and her other friends to Pop’s to have a little fun for a change, instead of rushing to Veronica’s rescue to do work that she knew darn well Veronica was capable of finishing herself. She wished Ron would quit treating her like such a doormat…

She wished Archie would notice her more and stare at her like he did Veronica. Betty wished for so many things as sleep tugged at her. Why did she always have to jump up to offer to help? Why couldn’t she just be passive when it came to other people’s problems?

Betty yawned and flipped over, letting the covers sag away from her body. Even with the window open, it was still warm in her room. She grew drowsy, though, and her parents’ voices through the walls and the sounds of whatever program they were watching drifted away as she tipped over into oblivion.

*

 

The moon rose, glowing bright as a new dime in the inky sky. 

Throughout Riverdale, stray pets and creatures of the night invaded back yards and foraged for nourishment, getting into trash cans, napping on warm car hoods, and munching on branches and exposed flower bulbs. Dogs held barking matches from behind fences and howled, barking at passerby when they rushed down sidewalks in the dark.

Betty began to dream.

She fidgeted and fussed in her sleep, tossing off the rest of the covers. The room still felt too hot, and too confining. Sweat beaded up on her skin, drenching the hairs at her nape.

Her skin rippled, breaking out in a fine rash of goosebumps. She moaned and muttered in her sleep.

“Nnnngggh…”

The bed springs creaked. An owl outside hooted just beyond her window, but it didn’t wake her. The skittering of feet, an errant squirrel emerging from a burrow in the base of the Cooper’s oak tree, made its way into her dreams. She dreamt of fur, and skittering… foraging.

Hunting.

Betty felt her earlier hunger return sharply, no longer sated by a full dinner and generous dessert. Her stomach growled cavernously, and her skin itched, burning, rippling sensations running through her nerves.

The moon was so bright. Irresistible to any laying eyes on it that night.

Betty didn’t ignore its call.

Her eyes snapped open in the dark. Blots of luminous gold rose up into her irises, crowding out the cerulean blue. Her pupils dilated, sharpening her vision in the dark. She could see dust motes on the window sill, and the individual threads of her throw pillows across the room. The texture of the wall paint, all the way down to the brush strokes. She all of this in the pitch darkness.

The hairs on her arms and legs stood on end, then… grew. Multiplied on her skin. A downy, dark blonde coat erupted over her body, and she lifted her hand to her cheek, feeling the strange layer of fuzz beneath her eyes. Her nose twitched. All of the smells in the house and in her surrounding yard assailed her at once.

She smelled the raccoon that was currently rummaging in her trash can again. Daddy would throw a _fit_ in the morning when he discovered the mess. She sat up abruptly in bed, kicking free of the offending covers, and she hurried to the window.

_Oh._

The street looked so different at this time of night, bathed in moonlight and street lamps. There were hardly any headlights. Most of her immediate neighbors were asleep by now. But she heard enticing sounds, drew the different green aromas into her lungs, everything was so _enhanced_ , so inviting.

Betty couldn’t sleep.

It was time to explore.

She reached for the edge of the window and shoved it the rest of the way open with one clawed, furry hand, and Betty shimmied through the window. Without another thought, she leapt down to the ground, hitting the grass with a thud. The cool, slick blades felt luxurious under her bare feet.

_Yes!_

Betty growled, feeling her lips peel back in a snarl. That raccoon. That critter had to go. Betty tipped her head back and released an ear-splitting, shrill howl that rattled through the air, scaring off every creature within a two-mile radius.

What else would she find? Heedless of the fact that she was outside in her pajamas and that she left her shoes – her _parents_ upstairs, Betty darted down the road. 

There were so many things to see, in the dark. Betty couldn’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am continuing this story here only. It originated on DeviantArt, but I'm invisible out there. Seriously. No presence at all. I'm still a small fish in the Ao3 pond, but at least people talk to me.
> 
> No real warnings here. This story will be low-key, a little romance, and little silliness, and a creepy description or two. It might even read like a "Goosebumps" novel circa 1994. Yeah, I went there...


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